Like A Father
by Mummyluvr
Summary: The moment Bobby Singer laid eyes on the boy, he fell in love. The kid was so quiet, so sad, so scared. Bobby felt the need to protect him from the life of a hunter. Sure, he messed up sometimes, but he more than made up for it in the end.
1. Chapter 1

**Title:** Like A Father

**Summary:** The moment Bobby Singer laid eyes on the boy, he fell in love. The kid was so quiet, so sad, so scared. Bobby felt the need to save him, to protect him from the life of a hunter. Sure, he messed up sometimes, but he more than made up for it in the end, when Dean finally became like a son to him.

**Rating:** T for some language and situations

**A/N:** This story is basically made up of one-shots that all tie together, therefore some chapters are shorter than others. Please bear with me. I was gonna start posting tomorrow, but I figured that since it was Father's Day, I'd go ahead and begin today.

**Disclaimer:** Supernatural belongs to Eric Kripke and the WB. The CW might be trying to screw it up, but the network will fail… at life and at ruining the show. That said, none of these characters are mine, I just like to hang out in Kripke's sandbox, building pretty castles and writing out the longest disclaimers ever :P

* * *

Like A Father

Bobby Singer had killed his wife. There had been something inside of her, something that twisted her once-beautiful features until they were hideously deformed. His first thought had been that one of the salvage yard dogs had gotten rabies, maybe bitten her.

He stabbed her. She got back up. It wasn't rabies. He didn't know what it was, but he knew that it wasn't rabies. So he just kept on stabbing.

And stabbing.

And stabbing.

He didn't stop until the black smoke burst forth from her mouth, laughing at him, taunting him, proving that it hadn't been her. It hadn't been her when he had stabbed it, and the thing that he held in his arms in the aftermath wasn't her, ether. Couldn't be. She was all bloody and… _dead_.

He'd gone searching after that, had missed her funeral, all the stares. He'd said that she went crazy, but he could tell by the looks he got in town that they knew. Everyone knew. He left because he couldn't take it and he needed to find out why. He needed to know about that cloud of smoke.

Bobby got into the world of hunting after his wife's death, after he saw the report in the paper that said an autopsy had shown her to be pregnant. Almost three months along. He had killed his wife and his unborn son.

It had been a demon, but that didn't make Bobby feel any better. He'd still killed his only family, the only woman that had ever loved him, the boy he could have had.

He delved into demonology. He made himself as knowledgeable as possible, hoping to help other people like himself, other families. He traveled, and hunted, but kept his home base up in South Dakota.

After a few years, people started coming to him for help. They needed information, rituals, a place to stay and rest. Bobby was happy to oblige, happy to know that he could help.

Everyone that stopped by was single. There were a few pairs, sure, a husband and wife that had lost their baby, a couple of sets of siblings, but mostly there were loners. All those years after his wife's death- _murder_- and he had never seen a functional family, a group of more than two.

One day, there was a knock at his door. Bobby trudged away from the research he was doing for a new hunter, a little girl named Abbey, on demonic deals to answer it. He pulled open the door and was met by an unusual sight: a haggard looking man with a baby in his arms.

"Can I help you?"

"You Bobby Singer?" the man asked, his voice rough, eyes tired, body poised at the ready.

"Who wants to know?"

"Name's Winchester. A nice little lady in Nebraska told me you might be able to lend a hand."

Bobby's eyes traveled over the baby, looking so small wrapped up in a tattered, scorched white blanket. "I'm not a baby-sitter."

Winchester sighed. "I'm not asking you to watch the kids. I need help with a different problem. A fairly _sulfuric_ one."

The older man cocked an eyebrow, looking across his yard to see if he could spot the other children mentioned. "Ellen sent ya, then?"

The man nodded. "Yeah. Said you're an expert or something."

"Or something." He turned back to Winchester. "You got a family?"

He sighed again, shoulders slumping. "Yeah. Name's John, by the way. My, uh, my wife died about two months ago. House fire." He leaned forward, his voice dropping to a whisper. "She was stuck to the ceiling." He leaned back. "I took my kids and left. I couldn't stand the way people were looking at me, like they thought I was crazy."

Bobby nodded. He could relate. At least the man- John- had been able to keep his baby. "What's the little tyke's name?"

John smiled, a hollow expression. He looked down at the baby in his arms. "Sammy. And this," he said, stepping aside slightly to reveal the small boy, no older than four, that had been hidden behind his legs. "Is Dean. Say hi to the nice man, Dean."

The boy wrapped tiny fingers around his father's pantleg, staring up at Bobby with large eyes that reminded him so much of his wife's that his heart actually began to ache. The boy pulled his hand away long enough to wave, then immediately went back to clutching at his father's leg.

"He hasn't been much of a talker since, you know," John added. "So, think you can help?"

Bobby wanted to answer, but he found himself incapable of taking his eyes from the small boy, still half-hidden. He seemed so tiny, so helpless, so scared. Maybe the more experienced hunter hadn't been able to save his own wife and son, maybe he hadn't even been able to save John's wife, but he was as sure as hell going to try to save the little blond boy. He was going to protect him. No matter what.

* * *

So there's chapter one. Reviews are always welcome :)


	2. Chapter 2

Wow. I wasn't expecting this much of a response for this one. Seriously surprised. Thanks, guys! It makes me kinda sad to say that this chapter's the shortest one in the story, but I think it's a good one, anyway.

Now that I've gotten that out of the way, is anyone going to WinchestMidwest in Chicago next week? If you are, I'll probably see you there. I'll be the big dork wearing the Supernatural Charlie The Unicorn shirt :P

* * *

He barely held back a gasp as he pulled the shirt off over the five-year-old's head. The child's chest and back were a sickening mixture of blue, black, and purple that stood out starkly against the boy's pale flesh.

"Dean," Bobby said slowly, reaching out a hand to tilt the boy's chin up in order to get a better look at his face, to gaze into eyes that told the whole, haunting story. The child flinched away from the hand. "Dean, look at me."

He did as he was told, turning sad eyes up to the man's face, looking at his current caregiver with a cautious trust.

"What happened?" Bobby asked, knowing that he wouldn't get an answer. After all, the kid hadn't spoken since the night of his mother's death.

Dean just looked into the rapidly cooling water that filled the tub, then turned back to Bobby, as if asking why the older man had drawn a bath if no one was getting in.

Bobby sighed. He was starting to wonder when John was getting back. The younger hunter had said it would only take a couple of days, a week tops. It had been nearly fourteen days since he'd left, and Bobby could tell that Dean was starting to worry.

Not that the boy had said anything about it. He just looked up at Bobby with those wide, pleading eyes, begging for his daddy.

Bobby knew that when John finally returned, he would most likely be drunk. Most hunters turned to alcohol to dull the pain, to forget the nightmares, to soften the memories of their own vicious deeds, but John was the only solo act that he knew of with two young kids. He was also a pretty mean drunk.

He reached out slowly to help the kid into the tub, gingerly wrapping a large hand around the skinny arm for support. The bruises, he told himself, probably came from training, or from doing the kinds of things that most little kids did- running and playing and rough-housing. John was a mean drunk, but he loved his sons. He would never hurt them.

Bobby chose to ignore the five circular bruises on Dean's arm, the ones that looked suspiciously like finger prints, as he began to help the child bathe.

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See what I mean? Short! I hope that doesn't mean I get fewer reviews, though... :D


	3. Chapter 3

You know, it's funny. I started writing this story a while ago, nad I only decided to fiish it up recently because I was waiting for a "good" idea to hit me once I'd finished Chronus. I just wante dto post something during my hiatus. It wound up being on of the msot popular things I've written. Thanks for the reviews, guys. it makes me sad that this is another kinda short chapter. Don't worry, though; the next one's longer, I promie!

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It had been almost an entire year since John Winchester had broken his oldest son's arm and sworn off drinking for good. Bobby looked across the kitchen table at the seven-year-old boy who sat across from him.

"When's daddy coming back?" Dean asked.

"As soon as your brother's better," Bobby answered through a mouthful of burnt macaroni.

"It's my fault he got sick," Dean muttered, glancing down at his food, shifting it around on his plate with his fork.

"It's your daddy's fault," the adult clarified, "for not getting the kid a chicken pox shot when he had the chance. Had nothing to do with you."

The boy sighed, finally daring to try a single curl of macaroni. "But Jeremy Fletcher at school had it, so-"

"It _wasn't_ you," Bobby insisted. He swore, that boy could be so damned tiring at times. The kid sighed again, resigning himself to the daunting task at hand, and the dinner table- or what counted as one- fell into silence.

Bobby chanced a glance at Dean, taking a moment to marvel at how time had seemed to fly, how the little mute kid that had hidden behind John Winchester's legs had grown into the quiet, reflective, little version of an adult that now sat before him.

Not that that was a good thing. But as much as Bobby believed that kids should be kids, he hated to mettle into Winchester affairs, and he was learning fast to leave well enough alone.

"When Sammy's better, are we gonna have to leave again?" Dean asked, jarring Bobby from his musings on the small clan of hunters and their leader's eccentricities.

"I guess so. Why?"

Dean shrugged, keeping his eyes carefully trained on his quickly diminishing dinner. Man, the kid had sure inhaled it. "I dunno. I just like it here, that's all."

"Glad you do," Bobby said, bobbing his head in a single nod.

"You are?"

"'Course. Wouldn't want you to be uncomfortable."

"And I'm not. I really like it. There's food everyday, and warm beds, and the same roof every night. And you're always here."

Bobby swallowed a particularly dry mouthful of macaroni and glanced up at the boy. There was just something about that tone that he didn't like, but he couldn't place it. "Great," he managed to croak out before grabbing a nearly empty glass of water and washing down the abomination in his throat.

"Really?" Dean's face brightened. "That's great."

"It is?"

"Yeah. See, 'cause I was wondering if maybe," the boy stopped long enough to lick his lips and throw a fleeting glance of hope up at the hunter, "if maybe I could… you know, maybe stay here… maybe?"

Bobby sighed, running a rough hand over his face. "Dean," he said as softly as he could, trying to let the boy down without hurting him, "that's just not gonna be possible."

The boy's hopeful expression faded immediately, the shy smile wiped from his face in an instant, the light gone from his eyes. It was as if someone had pulled a plug and Dean had just turned off. "Oh."

"Your daddy and your brother need you too much," the hunter continued, trying to undo some of the damage that was now apparent on the boy's face, "I'd feel bad taking you away from them."

"But if I'm out of the way," Dean reasoned, "then daddy will be able to spend more time with Sammy, right? Like now."

The logic was there, but it just couldn't happen. He had to give the boy credit for actually finding a legitimate reason for wanting to stay, though. "Your daddy just needs a bit of a break now. Like a vacation."

"From me."

And he just kept digging himself in deeper. "No. Not from you." He sighed. It didn't seem like there was any way to reason with the kid. He just had to tell Dean outright. "You can't stay with me."

The boy nodded, grabbing his plate and getting up from the table. "Ok," he said, his voice guarded, eyes giving away the disappointment, the neglect, the crushing weight of hopes and dreams and wants dashed and broken and ignored. "I'm gonna go to bed now." Never mind that it was only twelve noon. He was tired. He needed a break.


	4. Chapter 4

Sorry that this one's getting posted a little later in the day. I had an eye appointment today. Turns out I need a stronger prescription for my glasses, probably because I spend my days staring at a computer screen writing fanfiction. You're welcome :)

So, here's that longer chapter I've been promising. Enjoy!

* * *

Bobby hated intruders. The last ones he'd had had been a couple of demons looking to take on their first hunter. He had also been their last.

The sound of someone or something rummaging through his kitchen, opening and closing the pantry doors, had roused him from a light sleep. He grudgingly got out of bed, wondering if the noises had also woken the ten-year-old sleeping down the hall. With his luck, Dean would figure that his father and brother had come back from some one-on-one training early and the kid would get to play the part of hostage.

He crept down the stairs, keeping his eyes peeled for signs of the boy and finding none. The hunter stopped in the book-filled living room to grab the gun he'd hidden behind the couch before heading toward the kitchen, careful to avoid every squeaky board.

Happy to have the element of surprise on his side, Bobby slid around the corner and into the kitchen to find it empty. Apparently the intruder had heard him and fled, leaving the cupboards standing wide open, the refrigerator door cracked and spilling light into the room, and various half-eaten items of food scattered across the floor.

It looked more like someone had broken in to eat than to kill or rob him. And suddenly, he knew who it had been.

o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o

John had given Bobby strict orders when dropping Dean off. The kid was on a diet. He'd been pigging out lately, and the younger hunter couldn't figure out why, just knew that the kid was putting on weight faster than his rigorous training could take it off. He'd resorted to locking the cupboards, taking extra food with him on long trips, denying the kid snacks. He asked that Bobby do the same.

While the older man wasn't about to put locks on every door in his kitchen, he was willing to reduce portion size to help the kid out. His dad was right. He _was _getting a little chubby.

John had also warned that the kid was smarter than he looked, and expertly trained. That, coupled with the fact that he always seemed to be hungry, had led to Bobby calling John before sitting down in his kitchen in the dark to wait. He expected Dean to show at any minute.

Sure enough, the kid slunk around the corner, keeping low and quiet. He did a quick sweep of the kitchen, apparently not noticing Bobby's still form in the shadows, and headed straight for the cupboards.

Bobby decided to make his presence known when Dean pulled out a bag of chips and started digging in. He stood up and cleared his throat, wincing at the sudden rigidity of the shadowed figure hunkered down on the floor. "Dean?" He crossed the room and flipped on the lights, his eyes never leaving the crouching boy. "There something you want to tell me?"

The kid swallowed hard and spun slowly around to face the older hunter. "Hey, Uncle Bobby."

"What do you think you're doing?"

Dean shrugged. "Um, eating?"

Bobby stepped over to the boy, staring down at him with narrowed eyes. "And what do you think your daddy would say about that?"

"That I shouldn't?"

The older man nodded. "Exactly. So put it back."

"But I'm hungry."

"Should have eaten dinner."

The boy sighed, his shoulders slumping with the drawn-out exhalation. "I did. You watched me."

"Then how come you're still hungry?" Bobby asked.

Dean shrugged again. "I dunno. I just always am."

"You're always hungry?" The older hunter rolled his eyes, going back to the table and sitting down, glaring at Dean until the boy gave up the bag of chips and joined him.

"Kind of," Dean said as he sat down, his eyes averted, reminding Bobby of that long-ago conversation over macaroni about living arrangements.

"You can't kind of be hungry. You're either hungry or you're not."

"I dunno," Dean said, still not looking at him. "I guess I'm not. But it always feels like I'm, you know, empty or something." He glanced up quickly enough to see if Bobby was listening or laughing, then ducked his head and continued. "It's been going on since I was four."

"Since the fire?" Bobby asked, leaning over the table. He could remember the way the kid had inhaled his dinner all those years ago, they way he seemed to shove everything into his mouth at once, the extra servings he snagged.

"Yeah," the boy nodded, "since the fire. I know how it sounds, but I just… got empty, and the only thing that helped was whatever was on the table." He looked back up, his gaze lingering this time. "Besides, I needed to eat so I could take care of Sammy."

Bobby shook his head. "What about your daddy?"

Dean shrugged. "He was busy learning the ropes back then. It wasn't his fault. He just got caught up."

"And now he's cut you off."

"I told him I'd stop. Please don't get mad, it just feels like everything's falling apart and they left me again and I can't do what he wants me to because I just _can't_."

"Slow down," Bobby cautioned, "you'll hurt yourself."

"Look, I'll stop. I will. Just don't tell dad. He'd kill me, and then he'd bring me back to life and _really_ crack down. I don't want to starve." His voice cracked on the last sentence, as if he thought it could ever really get that far, as if John was really that sadistic.

Bobby sighed, his heart aching for the kid. He was just dealing with all the weird happenings in his life the only way that he possibly could given his lifestyle. He would never have any good friends to talk to, no one that would know the truth, no one he could trust, so he focused on the physical aspect of an emotional problem. "You're not gonna starve. I won't let you."

The boy licked his lips. "Really?"

"Yeah. Just… go back to bed," he said, rubbing a hand over his face. Dean stood up and headed for the door, looking back once to make sure the older man hadn't changed his mind. "Ask for seconds next time, all right?" Bobby called after him as the boy disappeared through the doorway.

He sat there for a while, just thinking about what the boy had said, wondering how things had gotten to that point, the place where food replaced love. _"Just don't tell dad." _He regretted making that call earlier, the one where he told John that he'd found his pantries raided, most likely by ten-year-old hands. Bobby resolved at that moment to try and catch his friend before Johnny did anything they both might regret later.

o0o0o0o0o0o

For the second time in three nights, Bobby was awakened by the sound of movement in his kitchen. Only this time, it was accompanied by a very familiar angry voice. The hunter leapt from his bed and barreled down the stairs and into the kitchen, where he found John standing over his very wide-eyed oldest son.

"Johnny," Bobby said, trying to keep his voice calm as he inwardly cursed himself for ever thinking that John might show up during regular business hours, "calm down."

"Calm down?" John bellowed, causing the boy huddled up on the floor to flinch away. "Calm _down_? You do realize that my pig of a son was _stealing_ from you, right?"

Dean looked up at him, eyes growing even wider as he begged without words, just the way he had before he'd started talking again, for someone to save him.

"Now, wait a minute, John. I told him he could-"

"You disobeyed me," John snapped, "_both_ of you."

"Last time I checked, I wasn't under your rule." Bobby said, trying to stay calm as anger bubbled slowly up within him.

"Last time I checked, Dean wasn't your son. I gave you a direct order about his care and feeding-"

"He's not some lousy stray you picked up at the local shelter," the older man pointed out, "he's your son. You're talking about him like he's a friggin animal."

"Well, he sure eats like one."

Every word out of John's mouth made the boy recoil, made him flinch, made him hurt, and it seemed to Bobby like the other man just didn't care. "Johnny-"

"No," John shouted, holding up a hand to silence his friend, "this is the last straw." He looked down at Dean and scowled. "Go up to your room. I'll deal with you later."

The boy did as he was told, scuttling from the room on shaking legs, not bothering to look back at the two adults. As soon as he was out of the room, John turned a red-rimmed gaze back to Bobby.

"You're drunk," the older hunter noted, his voice dripping with disgust. "John, you promised me."

"I didn't touch him."

"No? Tell me you weren't about to." John dropped his eyes to the floor as Bobby crossed his arms over his chest and shifted his weight. "Johnny-"

"He's gotta stay in shape, Bobby," John argued, desperation seeping into his voice, "he can't keep gaining weight. He-"

"Is a ten-year-old boy. Kids go through growth spurts all the time." The older man sighed, looking at his drunken friend, trying to figure out how he could have trusted the man, wondering if he'd come over mad, if he'd taken that anger out on anyone else. "Where's Sam?"

"Asleep at the motel. I would never hurt him."

"Him, no. Dean, yes."

John's eyes flashed with anger. "He's not your son!"

"Get out of my house."

"But-"

"I'll deal with him," Bobby snapped, his voice loud enough to rattle the picture frames on the walls and scare John into backing away from him.

The younger man nodded, backing clumsily out of the room. "Fine. But teach him a lesson for me." He stumbled down the hallway and out the door, letting it slam shut behind him. With another sigh, Bobby readied himself to face the boy.

o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o

Dean was sitting on his bed, his eyes cast down at the floor, by the time Bobby finally calmed down enough to talk to the kid. The hunter knocked on the doorframe to announce his presence. Dean looked up, his eyes nearly as red as his father's had been. "Uncle Bobby?"

Bobby cracked a smile, small and sad. "Yeah. Your dad went to go cool off."

Dean jumped off the bed, his eyes suddenly frantic. "You let him go back to Sammy? What's wrong with you?"

"Relax. I'm sure your brother will be fine. Your daddy is, too. You're the one I'm worried about." He took the bag of chips the boy had been rooting through the night before from behind his back and tossed it toward the kid. Dean caught the bag and looked up at Bobby with untrusting eyes. "Go ahead."

The boy was back on the bed in an instant, his hand blurring between the top of the bag and his mouth, spilling crumbs down the front of his shirt. He looked back at the adult, his eyes still brimming with mistrust. He stopped eating long enough to hold the crumpled bag out in offering toward Bobby, who shook his head.

He stood in the doorway, watching the boy eat as if he thought it were his last meal, and pondered the way things had turned out, the things he had learned. He had a feeling he wouldn't be seeing much of the Winchesters in the coming months, that John would even be angry at the boy sober. Maybe that was for the best. He couldn't protect the kid forever. Dean would have to learn to fend for himself to survive in the world his father had thrown him into. It was sad but true.


	5. Chapter 5

It's another short chapter, but it's the reason I wrote this story. Hope you enjoy it.

* * *

"Uncle Bobby, you don't play favorites, do you?"

Bobby glanced up from his lunch to stare across the table at the ten-year-old whose rapidly growing legs were only centimeters from his own as they were swung back and forth under the table. "Why would you ask that, Sammy?"

The boy shrugged, glancing at his brother, who flashed him a threatening look. "No reason. I was just wondering."

"Well, I don't play favorites."

Sammy nodded. "If you did, though, who would it be?"

Bobby looked between the brothers, wondering what had prompted the question. Sam had a satisfied smirk on his face, a smug look that shouldn't have been there. Dean was glaring daggers at his brother, barely touching his lunch, a sure sign that something was wrong.

"Why do you want to know?" the hunter asked, his eyes never leaving the boys.

"Because Dean said it was him."

From the corner of his eye, Bobby saw the older boy flinch. "Well, I don't play favorites, so it doesn't matter."

"That's what I told him," Sam insisted, "but he wouldn't listen."

"Shut up," Dean hissed, his eyes narrowed and dangerous.

Bobby finally turned his attention to the older boy. "There something you want to tell me?"

Dean dropped his eyes to his plate. "No, sir."

"So, who is it?" Sam asked again, practically begging his brother to beat him up when they were out of the older man's line of sight. "If you could pick, I mean?"

The older hunter looked between the boys, weighing his options. He could tell them the truth, admit that he felt a certain affinity toward the older boy, felt that he needed the acceptance more, looked at him as if he were a son. He could lie, tell them that Dean was wrong in his assumption, simply because it wouldn't do to have the boy going around and assuming that people liked him for the rest of his life. That was too easy a way to get hurt. Better to get it out of the way early in life. "Sam."

Sammy grinned at his brother. "See, I told you."

"But," Bobby hastened to add, "I don't play favorites, so it doesn't matter."

Dean stared at him, stared long and hard. He kept staring, even after Sam had let the subject drop and gone back to eating, stared as if it was the only thing he knew how to do.

There was such a look of hurt and betrayal in his eyes that Bobby had to turn away, had to tell himself that he'd done the right thing, let the kid down easy while he still could. He'd taught him a lesson about making assumptions, taught him just as John had ordered him to four years earlier.

Without warning, Dean stood up and left the room, his plate still half-full. Sam followed his brother's path with his eyes. "What's up with him?"

Bobby sighed, looking back down at his plate. The certainty that he had been letting the kid down easy was suddenly gone, replaced by a nagging guilt that threatened to eat away at him if he let it. But what could he do? The damage was done.


	6. Chapter 6

Another short chapter, but by far my fave! The final bit will be posted tomorrow!

* * *

Dean was distant, even more so than he had been before Bobby had opened his big fat mouth and uttered the name of the younger Winchester. He'd known that Dean had problems, was broken inside, but he didn't know how to help, couldn't think of anything to do for the poor kid.

Not that he was a kid anymore. He was pushing thirty. That look was still in his eyes, though. He stared at you, and it was like he was reading you, trying to decide if you were trustworthy or just another face in an endless sea of rejection.

And Bobby didn't know how to fix that. He wasn't even sure if it _was_ fixable. So he left. He made the worst mistake of his life, and he left. He left the man with a corpse.

The next time Bobby saw Dean, he wasn't with a corpse anymore. That was when he knew that he'd failed. He'd said and done all the wrong things since meeting the boy, and now it was showing on Sam's face- Sam's healthy, shining, _living_ face. It showed in Dean's eyes, the way that mistrust always had and would for the next year.

One year was a shitty deal, and they all knew it, but the kid was done. The _man_ was done. He'd been beaten and bruised, shuffled, starved, and he had finally done what everyone else in his life had always done. He'd chosen Sam. He'd had to pick, and he picked Sam.

People always picked Sam. Bobby hadn't been any different.

Now the only thing left to do was wait, and search, and hope, and pray. But Bobby knew. Sam knew. Ellen knew. They all knew. Dean Winchester's eternity would be filled with more cuts and scrapes and bruises and beatings, a new home for however long forever was, parched lips and a continually rumbling stomach. He would be alone. He would be unwanted. None of them would risk going in after him.

That was life. That was death. That was what Bobby saw as two men walked through his doorway when there should only have been one. That was why Bobby knew that he'd failed again. His wife. That kid with the big-eyed silent stare and spatter of freckles. He'd killed again. Maybe not directly, but, somehow, unintentionally. He should have protected the boy. Should have protected his son.


	7. Chapter 7

Was not letting anyone else log in to review and stuff yesterday? Or was that just me?

Anyway, it's that time of the story again... the end. I know, it's shocking. And kinda weird, so i'd really like to know what you guys think of this final chapter. As always, thanks again for reading and reviewing and just being an overall awesome audience! Without faithful readers like you, I'm pretty sure I would ahve given up on writing a long time ago.

So here it is. Please enjoy it :)

* * *

Bobby sighed, leaning over the cluttered table and rubbing his eyes. "Yes, Sam, I'll let you know if I see him, but if he wanted to run away from you, he wouldn't come here."

"He's not thinking straight," Sam said, his voice tinny over the miles between them, "he's acting like a child."

"But if what you said is true-"

"It's still him," Sammy reiterated, "he remembers who he is, how old he is, everything. But he's… I dunno, _addled_, or something. He wants me to take care of him."

"Well-"

"I know that I probably seem like the worst brother in the world, but, Bobby, you should _hear_ him. He's not himself. Have you ever heard of something like this?"

Bobby nodded, happy that Sam couldn't see the gesture, the smile forming across his face. Yeah, he'd heard of it. The curse of innocence. It would return a person to a happier time, a time when nothing mattered, the time of childhood. The time when childhood was lost. The person would remember exactly who he was, would remember his life, but just wouldn't care. He was innocent.

An innocent soul couldn't go to Hell. The curse had a way of wiping the slate clean. He'd made sure of that before casting it.

"No, Sam," he lied, "I haven't."

Over the phone, Sam sighed. "Well, keep your eyes peeled for him, anyway. Call me if you see him, all right?"

Bobby nodded again. "Will do."

"Thanks, man."

"No problem." He hung up the phone, setting it down on the table and staring at it. He hated lying to Sam, he really did, but maybe it was better this way. After all, the kid hadn't exactly been willing to accept his new brother, and, given his reaction to waking up next to a four-year-old, probably wouldn't even care that they were down to less than three months. He wanted to save his brother, preferably while keeping Dean, _Dean_.

Bobby turned as he heard soft footfalls crossing the floor into the kitchen. He smiled at the little boy. "You get enough sleep?" he asked, glancing behind Dean at the rumpled blanket he'd laid over the child as he slept on the couch. The boy nodded. "Good."

The kid had come a long way, walking most of the distance, wearing nothing but the one set of clothes Sam had bought him, figuring that they would find an answer before he had to play daddy for good.

He hadn't wanted to play daddy, though, and that was what had led Dean to the salvage yard nearly two hours before. He had crashed on the couch while Bobby waited for Sam to call and report the boy missing.

"Hey, Uncle Bobby?"

Bobby grinned. "Yeah, kiddo?"

"Can I have macanoni?"

The older man's smile widened at the boy's butchered pronunciation. "Sure thing. And, you know, you can call me daddy if you want."

Dean grinned, rocking back and forth on his small feet, eyes shining with youth, brimming with innocence, a newly-cleaned soul. "Ok, daddy."

It had been more years than Bobby could count since the death of his wife and unborn child. It had been nearly twenty-five years since he'd met Dean Winchester. Nearly twenty-four since he'd chosen to ignore the first crop of bruises. Twenty-two since he'd denied the boy a home. Nineteen since he'd caught the kid sneaking food. Fifteen since he'd accidentally rejected him. Less than one since he'd condemned him to Hell.

It had been twenty-four hours since Bobby Singer had attempted to curse a broken man over a stretch of uncountable miles. It had been twelve since the man had woken up a boy. Five since he'd run away. Two since he'd shown up on Bobby's doorstep.

It had been roughly five seconds since Bobby asked to have a son, one that he'd never thought he'd have. It had been four since Dean Winchester gained a father.

* * *

The End.

Told ya it as weird. Until next time,

Michelle Shavlik


End file.
